


murder is fun and those bastards deserved it

by Shy_the_lawyer



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, C.C. Tinsley Has Anxiety, Crime Scenes, Detectives, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Knives, Murder, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Roomates, Serial Killer, The author has no idea how police investigations work, and for that i apologize, basically Ricky kills a buncha creeps, basically just me and my friends if one of us murked a buncha people, didn’t actually happen tho, for the last one the reference is VERY brief, just one actually, written as platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shy_the_lawyer/pseuds/Shy_the_lawyer
Summary: C.C. Tinsley is a hardworking (though rather jaded) detective. Ricky Goldsworth is a serial killer with dozens of bodies behind him, and he’s simply itching to go on another killing spree.Unbeknownst to Tinsley, the killer he’s chasing is his roommate, who’s starting to get rather anxious at how close C.C. is becoming to solving the case.
Relationships: C.C. Tinsley & Maizey, Gebra/Maizey (Buzzfeed Unsolved), Holly Horsley & C.C. Tinsley, Lucy Goldsworth & Ricky Goldsworth, Ricky Goldsworth & C.C. Tinsley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for clicking on my work! I spent a month writing this and I’m so happy to finally release it to the world! 
> 
> Before we get started:
> 
> 1\. This story has some potentially very triggering topics!! The broad strokes are in the tags, and the specific ones will be in the notes before each chapter, so please be safe y’all!
> 
> 2\. This particular chapter has descriptions of murder, dead bodies, and workplace sexual harassment. If that’s triggering to you I suggest you don’t read it
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

The murder was grisly.

C.C. was used to grisly murders, but hot  _damn_ ,  this one was a  _ mess _ .

The victim had slashes all across his chest and deep stab wounds in his stomach, the knife still sticking out of the final one. According to the driver’s license and identification they had found on his body, he was an accountant named Jac Thomas, aged 24. He had long black hair that was matted in dirt and his own blood. His face and eyes were still open, in an eternal state of pain and shock.

Overall, it was very unpleasant, and Tinsley wasn’t exactly excited to be assigned to what would no doubt be a  _ very  _ messy case. 

“Any leads?” Tinsley turned to his coworker, Maizey. She was a pretty, dark-skinned woman in a green hijab, a white blouse, and a light yellow skirt. 

“Nope, but we sent his info to the precinct and they’re doing a background check. Hopefully we’ll get a lead from that. Or,” she glanced at the body. “considering how gruesome it is, it might be a serial killer.” They both groaned at the thought of a serial killer case. They were always exhausting and horrible to deal with. 

“God, I hope not, Maiz.” C.C. sighed. “Something tells me this is gonna be a long fucking case.”

~•~

When C.C. got back to the precinct, he immediately brewed himself a pot of coffee. He briefly debated drinking straight from the pot, before he remembered his coworkers making fun of him for his “caffeine addiction” and decided against it.  _No need to give those trigger-happy assholes more ammo_ ,  he thought, resigned. 

He sat down behind his desk, massaging away the beginnings of a headache before he even cracked open the case file Ryan from Tech had compiled for him. C.C. already knew what was in it; lists of the vic’s Facebook friends and recent calls and pictures of the crime scene. All the boring parts of the job C.C. was starting to hate.

He opened it up, and sighed in resignation at the mountain of papers that sat before him, most of which were probably irrelevant. He made a mental note to call his roommate if he was still sifting through the pile by 8:30, and got to work. 

~•~

Ricky was making pasta. 

Well, he called it ‘pasta’ to sound more professional. He was  _ actually  _ making macaroni and cheese.

His roommate had called him an hour ago to let him know that we was going to be home late and that Ricky shouldn’t worry. So, like the good roommate and best friend he was, he decided to make his roommate’s favorite food. 

As he was putting the finishing touches on dinner, he heard the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock. Moments after, he heard the door open and close as his roommate strolled in.

“Is that mac n cheese?” He called from the hall.

“Yup!” Ricky replied cheerfully. “You said you had a long day at work, so I thought I’d make you some mac.” 

“Well, thanks Ricky, I fucking need it,” he replied, hanging his coat and hat on the coat hanger as he went. He nudged off his shoes and went into the kitchen. “Maizey thinks it might be a serial killer. Do you need help with dinner?”

“No, I’m almost done,” he paused, trying not to seem too interested. “A serial killer, huh? That’ll be interesting,” he did his best to remain passive.

“Ricky, you  _ know  _ I can’t talk to you about the case,”

“Oh come on, I won’t spill! Maybe I can help! I’m helpful, stupid,” he jokingly pouted. 

“You can  not  help. You aren’t allowed to,” he tried to sound stern. It didn’t really work.

“Hey! We both know that’s not true—“

“It  is. ”

“—and even if it was, talking about the case’ll help you figure it out! C’mon, C.C., I know how much you love sharing the nitty-gritty details.” He spooned out two bowls of mac n cheese and set them on the table before sitting down. C.C. immediately dug into his mac, but Ricky just folded his hands and put them under his chin, elbows on the table. “C’mooooonnn, C.C.” He smiled at his roommate and batted his eyelashes before laughing at his own antics.

C.C. sighed. “Ugh,  _fine_.  But you can’t tell  _anyone_ ,  Ricky. I’m serious.” Ricky nodded. 

“He’s an accountant named Jac Thomas, and he had 15 stab wounds,” Ricky paled ever-so-slightly as C.C. revealed who the victim was. He was expecting this, he  _ knew  _ this was going to happen, he had been thinking about it the moment he decided he was going to plunge his knife into that motherfucker’s chest, but hearing the case come from his roommate’s lips was different. In a way, it made the murder feel more  _real_.  More  _bad_. 

After dinner, they settled down to watch an episode of whatever crime show was on. And yet, despite Ricky’s fascination with the show onscreen, he couldn’t help the slight bud of anxiety that had started to form in his chest.

~•~

_ Ricky remembers his first murder.  _

_ He had been thirteen, and the man—whose name Ricky did not know at the time— had insulted his mother.  _

_ Lucy had worked an office job, some pyramid scheme-type business, and her boss had been harassing her at work, hitting on her every chance he got. She had told him that she was married, she wasn’t interested, she wanted to keep things professional, that he had to back off. It didn’t work.  _

_ She had come home one day crying, and Ricky had pressed his ear up against the door, eavesdropping on the conversation between his parents. He heard his mother tell his father how her boss had called her a  bitch,  a  tease,  and how he had threatened to fire her for “rejecting him.”  _

_ While his father comforted Lucy, Ricky came up with a plan. _

_ If you could even call his hasty decision that. _

_ He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and walked the short distance to his mother’s work, determined to finish the whole ordeal that night.  _

_ The man had just been locking up to leave when Ricky showed up behind him. It was late and dark and Ricky wore a fearsomely determined expression as he walked up to him.  _

_ He barely got a word of acknowledgment at Ricky’s presence out before Ricky stabbed him.  _

_ As he stabbed the man, repeatedly, Ricky relished in the experience. The warm blood dripping down his fingers, the agonized grunts of the man in front of him, and the pool of red dripping from his body onto the pavement. _

_ The next day, his body was found by Lucy herself.  _

_ When questioned by the police, she said she had no idea who could’ve committed the crime. _

~•~

It had only been a day on the case and Tinsley was already considering asking Ricky for help.

In the past, he had “let things slip” to his roommate and Ricky, the crafty genius he was, had helped him figure it out quicker than any of his coworkers had.

It wasn’t just that Ricky was smart, though. Tinsley, although he wouldn’t be caught _dead_ admitting it, firmly believed that Ricky was the best partner he had ever had, despite Ricky not  _actually_ being a detective. They worked well together, and they helped each other see things that the other would have completely missed. C.C. had been trying for  _years_ to get Ricky to join the force, stating how he could make a difference, how he could investigate the crimes  _without_ getting C.C. in trouble. Ricky had turned him down every time though, so despite his reservations on the matter, he kept asking his roommate for help on his cases, no matter how confidential.

Tinsley was a little worried with how comfortable he was with breaking the rules for Ricky Goldsworth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: a non-graphic nightmare, brief reference to sexual harassment of a potentially underage person, and a very graphic murder. Tread carefully!!

Ricky was  _ itching  _ to go out and murder somebody.

He had been, ever since he stuck his knife into Jac Thomas’s chest. He had forgotten how  _ good  _ it felt to see the life drain from someone’s eyes, how  _ powerful  _ he felt. Knowing he could so easily plunge his knife and they would be forever plunged into darkness. All he had to do was bury his knife in someone and they themselves would be buried. 

The power, the adrenaline rush, the god complex. It intoxicated Ricky Goldsworth. 

It had been too long since Ricky had gone on a killing spree. 

And he was simply  _ aching  _ to go on one again.

~•~

C.C. awoke from a gruesome nightmare, screaming, with a shadowy figure standing over his bed. 

His first instinct was to reach for his gun on his nightstand, but before he got the chance the shadowy figure turned on the lamp.

“Hey, loser, you alright?” The soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated the figure’s face to reveal his roommate. There was concern in the way he called C.C. a loser. The first thought C.C.’s sluggish brain registered was that Ricky was dressed. He ignored it.

“I heard you screaming from the other room so I came to check on you.” Ricky spoke with a soft voice, as if C.C. were a wild animal he was afraid to spook. Tinsley took a deep, shuttering breath, and pushed himself into a sitting position on his bed. His shirt was sweat soaked and clung to him, and his messy sheets were wrapped tightly around his legs.

He nodded, not quite trusting his shaky voice to hold. Ricky sat on the edge of the bed by C.C., and he moved slightly to make more room for Ricky. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” C.C. shook his head, flashes of gore flitting through his mind. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face to try and clear the images.

“C.C.,” Ricky said, “C.C., hey.” He gently took C.C.’s hand away from where it was harshly rubbing his eyes before he put both of his hands on C.C.’s shoulders. “C.C., look at me,” C.C. complied. “You’re ok, you’re safe. I’m safe, everyone is safe. No one’s gonna get hurt, ok? And if anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll stab them,” Ricky said the last part deadpan. C.C. smiled slightly at Ricky’s joke, before his shorter friend wrapped him up in his arms, hugging him tightly. 

“If you ever have a nightmare, just let me know, ok? We’ll make popcorn and watch a shitty movie.”

“Ok,” C.C. said quietly. 

“You wanna go do that right now?”

“No, I better get some shuteye,” he rubbed his eyes again, much gentler this time. “Thanks, Ricky.”

“Hey, no problem. What are friends for?” Ricky replied with a smile, before turning off the light as he got up to leave, quietly shutting the door behind him.

After Ricky left, C.C. fell into a slightly less fitful sleep.

~•~

C.C. felt like the corpse he was investigating as he dragged himself into the precinct that morning.

“Wow,” Maizey looked him up and down. “You don’t look great.”

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled. “Did I miss anything?”

“No-thing,” she dragged out the ‘o’ for emphasis. “Those guys in Tech are still trying to go over nearby security footage, though, so I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks Maiz,” he replied, while he started brewing a pot of coffee. 

C.C. and Maizey weren’t  _ technically  _ partners. However, it was well-known that they were very close and worked well together so even when they  _ weren’t  _ assigned  to the same case, they often helped each other with their investigations. C.C. thought Maizey was one of his closest friends, after Ricky. Maizey had even asked him to be the best man in her upcoming wedding to her fiancée, Gebra. 

“C.C., you alright?” Maizey slid up beside him at the counter. “Seriously, you look bad.”

“Wow, thanks Maizey,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m fine. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” 

She looked at him like she didn’t quite believe him, and went back to her desk. 

As Tinsley waited for his coffee to finish brewing, he allowed his mind to wander. He was quickly broken out of his reverie by a shy, quiet voice behind him.

“Ex-excuse me? Are you Detective Tinsley?” The voice spoke barely above a whisper, and when C.C. turned around, he was greeted with the face of an awkward, uncomfortable-looking teenager. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Why?”

“You’re . . . uhm, you’re working on the case with the guy that was murdered on Lake street, right? That’s what the newspaper said, anyway.”

“Kids still read the newspaper?” Tinsley said, a quizzical look on his face.

“Uh,” the kid seemed confused at the detective’s point of focus. “Yeah. Anyway, I think I saw something?”

Tinsley furrowed his brow. “Well? What was it?”

“Uhm, I think I like, yaknow,  saw  the guy? The guy that, like, killed him or something.”

Tinsley blinked, surprised. “Well—great. I’ll go get the sketch artist, I think Sara’s here, and we can have you make an official statement—“

The teen looked increasing uncomfortable. “No, I uh, I think I’d just prefer to be like an anonymous tip? I didn’t get that good of a look at him anyway.”

“Ok, what’s your story then?” Tinsley took a pen and a small notebook out of his trench coat pocket. 

“Well, I was uh, I was out walking and I come across these two guys, and one of them is on the ground and the other is leaning over him, and at first I thought the other guy was giving ground-guy CPR or something an’ I was gonna offer to call 911 but then I saw that other guy was like punching him or something? And then I realized that ground guy was  _ dead  _ and was being murdered by the other guy and—“ 

“Hey, kid, it’s ok, just take a breath,” Tinsley put a hand on the teen’s shoulder while they took deep breaths in an effort not to cry.

“Sorry, it’s just really wack, yaknow?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I get that.” Tinsley didn’t know what ‘wack’ meant. “Do you know what time this was?”

“Uh, like two thirty? Or something? I don’t remember exactly, I’m sorry, I,” they stopped themself and took another deep, shuttering breath.

“That’s ok, did you get a look at the man?”

“Uhm, he was like wearing all black, and he had short black hair, and he was like taller than me but shorter than you, and—“

“Could you maybe be more specific on the height scale?”

“Uh, yeah, I think? He was like, taller than 5ft6, but like not 6ft, yaknow?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded in agreement as he jotted that down in his notebook. “Anything else?”

“He was like, tan? I think? And he was  _ covered  _ in blood, I mean absolutely  _covered_.  It was  _everywhere_. ”

“Ok,” he finished writing down what the teen had said before putting away his notebook. “Well, that was very helpful, thank you. Why don’t you head home now, ok?” The teen nodded, and quickly turned to leave.

As they were walking away, the coffee machine alerted Tinsley that it was finished. He poured himself a large cup, and went over to Maizey’s desk to share the news.

~•~

Picking out targets was always fun. 

At least, it was always fun for Ricky. Not so fun for the target, though. 

Ricky had  _ always  _ enjoyed picking out targets. While it was more fun to just grab a random person off the street, Ricky hadn’t tried that since he accidentally tried to grab a pro wrestler. 

He’d had the black eye for a week. His ribs had taken even longer to heal. 

The man he had picked out was a 55 year old named Reeve Benson. Benson ran a bowling alley that Ricky had once stopped in to use the restroom. While he was there, he saw Benson making one of his younger employees rather . . .  _uncomfortable_.  He had jotted down Benson’s name in his notebook,  _ just in case.  _

And now, he was finally going to be able to cross Mr. Benson off the list.

Ricky was currently standing in the shadows of an alleyway, staring at Benson where he was standing on the empty street, lighting up a cigarette. He waited until Benson’s back was turned to step out of the shadows. He swiftly and quietly walked up behind him before wrapping his left arm over the man’s shoulder, putting his hand over Benson’s mouth. 

He barely had a moment to react before Ricky stabbed him.

And then he stabbed him again. And again. And again. 

He repeatedly pierced the soft flesh of his lower back, skewering his organs where they were unprotected by bone. The blood gushed out of the stab wounds and bathed Ricky’s front in the red liquid, still warm from being in Reeve’s body.  _ Ah shit,  _ he thought.  _My torso is probably all stained_.  He continued to stab Reeve, the force of the strikes causing the knife to slip and cut Ricky. When he was done, the man had twelve stab wounds littered across the broad expanse of his back. He then lifted up his knife to the tender flesh of Reeve’s throat. He felt his knife bob, as Reeve took one last pin-filled swallow, before Ricky cut the man’s throat clean open.

He then dragged the body so that it was laying directly under the street lamp. 

He wiped off the blood on his knife with his sleeve, then looked down at the body and started to giggle. An insane, unhinged sort of laugh, before he abruptly stopped, gasping in a breath, afraid he had been heard. He looked around momentarily and saw no one, so he decided to walk home, a spring in his step and a whistle from his lips.

~•~

C.C. was just about to finish his third cup of coffee when the case file was dumped on his desk.

“Ryan and I finished going through the security footage. This was all we could find, but he seems to match the tip’s description.” The guy from Tech—Shawn? Sam?—said to him, leaning his hip on C.C.’s desk. 

C.C. quickly finished off the last gulp of his coffee before he popped open the file. 

The first—and only—thing he noticed was that all the photos were extremely blurry.

“This’ll be really helpful,”  _ it wouldn’t  _ “thanks, Shawn.”

“It’s Shane,” he said, before straightening up and walking away.

Before C.C. got a chance to smash his head into the hard wood, he heard someone else walk up to his desk. He looked up and saw Detective Holly Horsley, her short curly bob still swaying from her walk.

“C.C.,” he didn’t like the tone of her voice. “They found another body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact! One of the first visible signs of death is when the eyes cloud over!
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!<3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: a miserable teen is questioned, unrepresented, by the police; there’s references to self-harm and depression, but no actual s/h or depression actually happened

Tinsley let out a deep sigh. He looked up at Holly, and saw she already looked as defeated as he did.

“Fifty-five year old named Reeve Benson. Could be unrelated to your case, but Maizey’s on the case with me and she thinks it has a similar stabbing and slashing pattern as yours, so I thought I’d let you know. Just in case.”

Tinsley rubbed his temples and let out a groan.

“Thank you Holly,” he said, and got up to get himself another cup of coffee. Holly walked with him to get some coffee of her own.

“You have any leads?” He asked.

“Besides it maybe being connected to your body, no. I’ll ask the Tech Guys to review the camera footage after this.”

“Best of luck, Holly, to the both of you on your case.” he nodded to her.

She nodded back. “You too, C.C.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked back to his desk.

The Tech guy—the other one this time(Riley? No, that wasn’t it)—came up to his desk about an hour after his conversation with Holly.

“Dumbass decided to kill someone near a security camera hotspot,” Riker? said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Still too blurry to make out any defining features, but he looks kind of similar to the other guy, yeah?”

Tinsley opened up the case file Ryan— _ Ryan!!  _ _That was it!_ —had given him. He looked at the photos and furrowed his brow.

“Thank you, Ryan.”

“No problem, C.J.” He said, voice full of humor.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied.

Tinsley looked through the photos he had been given, and he thought about how the figure almost reminded him of someone. He brushed it off as an illogical thought— _it’s just a blob after all, it looks like everyone_ — but he couldn’t help the way the thought scraped at the back of his mind, relentless.

~•~

Ricky was starting to feel bad about the stress he was undoubtedly causing his best friend.

He had  _ insisted  _ that he take C.C. out for lunch to get a break from work, and C.C. had  _ insisted  _ he bring his case file with him.

“Ricky . . . “

“You need my help already, nerd?” Ricky said, poking fun at his best friend. Tinsley sighed.

“Do you think the employee he fired last month would be angry enough to brutalize him like this? Holly and Maizey think it’s a serial killer case, but I’m not gonna jump to conclusions just yet. I mean, I’d say he looks similar enough to the blur on the security camera.”

Ricky paused.  _Shit_ ,  he thought. He hadn’t known he had been caught on security footage. But as long as C.C. was still asking him for help, he was in the clear. Hopefully.

Oh, and that. C.C. was asking him for help on a case. On the murder that  _ he  _ had committed.  _Shit shit shit_.  On one hand, he wanted to help his best friend. On the other hand, he did  _ not  _ want to get caught. 

“Well, did you  _ talk  _ to the employee?” His voice was thin.

“Yeah, and he  _ seems  _ like the main suspect, but that just doesn’t feel . . . Right. Does that make sense?”

Ricky nodded and gave a quiet “mhm.” Ricky stared down at his hands resting on the table, fingers and palm covered in scratches, and imagined the blood that had been on them. The blood that  _ would  _ be on them. And as he did this, he tried not to burst into either laughter or tears.

“I may ask Holly for her case notes when I get back to the precinct. Might help determine if she and Maizey are right about their whole ‘serial killer’ hunch.”

Ricky continued to stare at his own hands, eyes wide. 

“Ricky? You ok?” Ricky immediately shot up, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Quickly enough, he loosened up and forced himself to look more relaxed. He gave Tinsley a smile.

“Always, C.C.,”

~•~

When C.C. got home from work that nigh he was seriously considering writing up his letter of resignation. He had spent the afternoon combing through the victims’ coworkers, family, and social media friends, looking for a connection between them. So far, he had found none.

When he walked into the home, he was once again greeted with the scent of food cooking. 

“Tamales are almost done!” Ricky called happily from the kitchen. Tinsley sighed, content, as he removed his shoes, coat, and hat. He walked into the kitchen and started setting the table. 

“I thought it was my turn to make dinner?” Tinsley questioned.

“Well, yeah, but I felt bad about your case.”

“Why’d you feel bad? It’s not as if  _ you’re  _ out there murdering people,” Ricky froze, before he forced himself to continue on, as if unaffected.

“Tinman, as a friend, you look like  _shit_. ”

“Not my fault you’re blind, dumbass,” Tinsley shot back.

“I have 20/20 vision,  _dumbass_ ,” Ricky’s voice was full of joking mockery.

C.C. reached past Ricky to pick up two plates off the top shelf. He put them on the counter so he and Ricky could serve themselves tamales, then he carried his plate to the table and sat down. Ricky followed suit, grabbing a half-drank glass of water from the counter as he went.

They sat and idly conversed as they ate. They talked about work, television, everything and nothing. Ricky talked about his father’s jewelry store where he currently worked, and the rowdy customers that had come in that day. In the middle of his story, he paused so he could stop laughing, holding up his hand to indicate that he needed a breath. As he did this, C.C. looked at his hand and noticed for the first time that he had deep cuts along his fingers and palms. They looked fresh and painful.

“Oh shit,” C.C. said. “Ricky, what happened to your hand?”

Ricky looked down at his hand, radiating discomfort.

“Oh, I was—I was trying to cut up vegetables earlier. Didn’t exactly work out,” he chuckled, attempting to make his nervousness seem like bashfulness. C.C. didn’t buy it. He raised his eyebrow, questioning, but decided not to push it.

“Uh huh,” he said, unsure of what to make of the situation. “Anyway, what did she say after that?” Tinsley changed the topic back, and allowed Ricky to ramble on with his humorous story. But in the back of his mind, he kept replaying the interaction. He could tell Ricky was lying, he just didn’t know  _why_.  And he was determined to find out. 

~•~

_Holy shit_ ,  Ricky thought.  _ That was **way** too many close _ _calls_.  Ricky didn’t like the fact that C.C. could even  _ potentially  _ suspect him of the crime. He knew he would have to be more careful. He didn’t want a repeat of ten years ago. He shuddered at the very thought.

He remembered being nineteen. He remembered being an  _idiot_. 

He remembered the metal handcuffs wrapped around his wrists, bruising his skin. The cold metal table he rested his arms on. The jangle as he moved his hands, the chain of the cuffs trapped in the loop on the table. The squeaky, uncomfortable chair with the one leg that was slightly shorter than its three counterparts.

Most of all, he remembered the questioning.

Good  _lord_ ,  the questioning. 

They had spent as much time trying to convince themselves that Ricky had committed the murder as they had trying to convince  _him_.

Of course, he  _ had  _ committed it. Not that the police needed to know that.

It had been an awful, unrepresented seventeen hours until his mother— _god bless Lucy_ — had burst into the station and  _ demanded  _ that somebody get Ricky the expensive lawyer he so desperately needed. 

She hadn’t asked any questions, and he hadn’t provided any answers. She just iced his wrists and kissed his forehead, and helped him look presentable when his court date eventually rolled around. 

After he had been declared innocent, his mother helped him move to a new city. 

To this day, they had never talked about the incident beyond what was necessary. Not that it mattered. She knew he was guilty, and he knew that she knew. They had a silent agreement of sorts. As long as Ricky was only killing people that had it coming, Lucy would remain silent.

~•~

Twenty-four hours after the second body had turned up and Tinsley was stuck, stuck,  _stuck_.

They  _ barely  _ had “evidence” that it was a serial killer case, and he had no idea of what could possibly connect the victims. He was sleep deprived, strung-out on coffee, and desperate for a break in the case. 

Ricky, the wonderful friend that he was, had been taking on most of C.C.’s responsibilities at home. He hadn’t made dinner or cleaned their shared place all week, as if Ricky could tell this case was taking a toll on C.C. without even having to tell him.

Overall, his friend was going above and beyond, and he was eternally grateful.

Despite all of this, Ricky had (accidentally, of course) managed make C.C. worry  _more_. 

He was sitting at a table in the break room after Maizey had practically threatened him into taking a break, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Ricky. More specifically, Ricky’s  _hands_.

He tried to think about all the years he had known Ricky. All the things they had told eachother, all the times they cheered eachother up. He didn’t  _ think  _ Ricky had a history of being depressed, but the more he thought about it, the more he became unsure. The more he realized he didn’t  _ really  _ know all that much about how Ricky was spending his time before he waltzed into C.C.’s life. 

He mentally reviewed every time he had seen Ricky roll up his sleeves or wear a pair of shorts. He would’ve noticed had there been odd scratches or scars, right?  _Right_? He was a detective goddamnit, why couldn’t he figure this out?!

He resolved to just  _ ask  _ his best friend instead of worrying himself to death.

He pulled out his phone and texted Ricky.

_ C.C.: U on break? _

_ Ricky: two mins why _

_ C.C.: Can u call me when ur off? _

_ Ricky: tins? everything ok? _

_ C.C.: Yeah. Just want to talk to u. _

He hesitated.

_ C.C.: :) _

_ Ricky: yea ok. loser. :) _

A few moments later, his phone let out a shrill ring. He quickly answered it.

“Hey, nerd, what’s up?”

“Well, I—“

“Tins. No offense,” he laughed, “but I don’t have time right now for you to dance around the subject. So, what’s up?”

“Are you ok? I saw your hands last night, I know you were lying about cutting vegetables and like—I’m your best friend. You’d  _ tell me  _ if you needed help, or if you wanted to talk, or something like that, right?” He had started rambling.

The line was silent for a moment.

“C.C.,  _ what _ ? What are you  _ talking about? ” _

“Ricky, did you,” he took a deep breath. “Did you hurt yourself? Are you  ok? ”

“Wha—oh.  _Oh_.  Oh C.C.,  _no_.  I’m fine, I  _promise_.  I’m sorry I worried you, man.”

“But, you’d tell me if something was wrong?”

“Of course, C.C., you’re my best friend. But I’m really,  _truly_ ,  alright. Now go eat something, it’s not good to have as much coffee as you’ve undoubted drunk on an empty stomach,”

“Ok,” Tinsley cleared his throat. “Ok, yeah, sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me, dumbass. Anyway, I’ve gotta go soon. See you tonight, Tins.”

“Bye, Ricky,” C.C. replied with a smile.

~•~

_ Murder is fun, and those bastards deserved it. _

This is the line that played like a mantra in Ricky’s head.

At the end of the day, he didn’t usually consider himself a  _ serial killer,  _ even though he knew that was an accurate title and that he deserved it. 

He was just doing a job that needed to be done. And enjoying your job wasn’t a  _sin_ , as far as Ricky was aware.

At the end of the day, he was protecting people. 

And after all, if  _ he  _ didn’t do his job, then who would?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I uploaded this chapter with my cat, Mittens, laying on my side :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey broskis! We’re back! 
> 
> Anyway, warnings for this chapter:
> 
> •a graphic murder
> 
> •brief mention of sexual harassment
> 
> •a very graphic nightmare
> 
> •the blind panic caused by a very graphic nightmare

Frosting.

Lumps and clumps of cotton candy frosting on a triple layer fudge cake.

That’s what Ricky reminded Tinsley of.

Sickly sweet.

Good intentions, wonderful presentation, but so much sugar is used to hide the other parts of the cake that you suffocate.

C.C. was lying awake on his back in the middle of the night, and his mind couldn’t stop racing. For some reason, that his subconscious knew but his brain couldn’t yet figure out and process, his thoughts kept getting drawn back to Ricky. 

His wonderful, kindhearted roommate, and subsequently, every negative thought he had ever had in regards to his best friend. There weren’t a lot, and the ones he  _ had  _ thought over the years were very mild. Harmless things _like_ _ that fucker ate the last cookie. _

However, there were other thoughts. Ricky, his slight peculiarity, his fascination with crime shows.

His hesitance.

Towards the precinct, towards C.C.’s work friends, towards the past and secrets and gleaming sharp things.

How _revolted_ he was when C.C. first mentioned the force. 

Overall it led to a bunch of puzzle pieces that could’ve made a dozen different pictures, and C.C. wasn’t sure how to feel about some of them.

Or, he could have been overreacting. 

He laid on his back, and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

He was probably overreacting.

~•~

Ricky dragged a finger across the blade of the knife to check the sharpness as he hid in the shadows of a building.

Joseph Peters, that son of a bitch.

He had come into the store a few days ago and  _ immediately  _ eyed up one of the customers. One of the  _ uninterested  _ customers.

Peters, evidently, couldn’t take the hint. 

When Ricky finally forced the hint down his throat, he cussed up a storm, threatening Ricky, the girl, and all of the other customers endlessly. When security dragged him out, he swung a punch, missed, and broke a very expensive glass display case.

Ricky had been content to murder him the moment he walked up to the girl, but now it was different. Peters has messed with his store, his family’s pride and joy.

Now, Ricky wanted  _revenge_.

Not just revenge on behalf of the lady, but revenge on behalf of the business. On behalf of his father, his family, all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into the stunning establishment that was Goldsworth’s Jewelry.

Revenge was something that Ricky was very familiar in the art of, and was even more comfortable acting upon.

He stood behind the corner of a building while Joseph walked up the street towards him, taking his sweet ole time. 

The bastard.

Peters got to the corner and Ricky grabbed him, placing a hand over his mouth. He stabbed at him, and promptly caught a sharp, swift elbow to the stomach. He stumbled back, losing his grip on Peters.

“ _Fuck_ ,”  Ricky said. “I guess I didn’t plan this out very well, huh,” he said with a huff of laughter. He slashed at Peters again, nicking him, and was firmly slapped across the face. He dropped the knife. 

Joseph and Ricky wrestled around for a bit, throwing punches, before they fell down, rolling off the curb and into the street. Ricky landed on top, and quickly scrambled into an upright position, straddling Joseph and trapping his arms under Ricky’s legs. He threw a few swift punches, bruising up Joseph’s face and bloodying both his knuckles and the man’s nose, before he wrapped his fingers around the other man’s throat. He squeezed and squeezed as Joseph choked and choked, before his ragged breath gave way to the silence of the night. He then grabbed the hem of his shirt and rubbed the fingerprints off of the body. For good measure, he placed his hand on Joseph’s shoulder and the other on his chin, jerking his head to the side with a loud  _ crack _ .

He stood up and grabbed his knife, lifting the blade to his mouth and licking off some blood as he started the walk home. 

~•~

Ricky tiptoed into the home, quietly locking the door behind him. He plugged up the kitchen sink and plopped the knife in, pouring a bit of bleach into the basin. He then walked to the bathroom, preparing to strip off his clothes and throughly shower when he heard a scream. He immediately tensed up. As quickly as it started the screaming stopped, followed by soft whimpers. It took Ricky’s adrenaline-high mind a moment to recognize who the scream had come from.

“Ricky,” he heard a soft, distant voice whine. “ _ Ricky! _ ” It said more urgently. The voice was filled with fear.

For a moment, Ricky stood stock-still, unsure if he should approach his ( _ detective!! _ ) roommate in the state he was in. His hesitation only lasted for a moment, though, as he quickly bounded towards his friend’s room, skidding around the corner as he almost ran into several walls. He threw open the door to his friend’s room and walked to the side of his bed. 

“C.C.? What’s wrong?”

“I, uh,” C.C. sounded breathless. “I’m—I’m sorry, Ricky,”

“Hey, hey hey hey, don’t apologize Tins, it’s ok, you’re ok, I promise. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I,” he took a deep breath to try and level out his breathing and heart rate. “I shouldn’t have gotten you, it’s late, whatever you’re awake for is probably important, I’m sorry,” his voice wavered a tiny bit at the end.

“No, no, C.C., you didn’t interrupt anything. I’m fine, don’t worry.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I uh, I had a nightmare,” 

“No shit.” 

Tinsley chuckled at that, before sobering up again. “Uh, yeah. I had a nightmare earlier, and I woke up and tried to find you and you were gone,” his voice almost cracked. “So I just tried to go back to bed, but when I fell asleep this time the nightmare was so much  _worse_. ” 

Ricky felt bad that he hadn’t been there for his friend. He knew that Peters was someone that had to be dealt with, but still. 

He had promised to be there for C.C. when he had a nightmare, and yet he wasn’t.

But, deep in the recesses of his mind, it dawned on him that he didn’t have an alibi for the murder he had just committed. A murder tied to the case that his  _ detective friend  _ was working on. 

A brief thought passed through his mind, but he instantly pushed it away, ashamed. He couldn’t even fully process the thought without wanting to cry.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here Tinman. Are you alright though?” He vaguely saw Tinsley nod in the dark. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah,” He croaked.

“Ok, yeah, I’ll go get a shower and then I’ll meet you in the living room. Is that ok?”

Instead of answering, C.C. quickly sat up and wrapped Ricky in a tight hug. 

Ricky just rubbed his back, a hand on his arm.

~•~

The nightmares were getting worse.

C.C. kept dreaming that a murderer would break into his home and kill all his friends and family, and every time he dreamt it, it (somehow) got even more horrifying. This time, their eyes had been gauged out. 

Tinsley awoke with a wail, flailing around a bit. He took a moment to breathe, making sure his voice would come out steady. He cautiously called for Ricky. No answer. After taking a moment to brace himself, he slowly sat up and twisted, so that his feet were resting on the cold floor. He placed a hand on his nightstand and pushed himself up, standing unsteadily. He stretched and wobbled towards the door, getting more steady the more he walked. He walked through the doorway and down the hall to Ricky’s room, bracing himself on the walls as he went. His knees were shaking ever so slightly.

He knocked lightly on Ricky’s door, then cracked it open to peek inside. When he didn’t see Ricky, he mildly panicked. He called for Ricky again, louder. He paused to listen, straining to hear a reply or footsteps, or any sign that Ricky was in their shared home. When he heard none, he really  _did_ start to panic. He dashed around their house, flinging open doors and checking around corners looking for him. He even looked into the hallway outside of their apartment. After he searched the whole home, finding nothing, he forced himself to take big, deep breaths, hands braced on the countertop in the kitchen. 

_There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this_ ,  C.C. thought.  _ He’s perfectly fine. Everything is perfectly fine. _

He took a few more deep breaths, remembering the breathing exercises he had learned from Maizey. He then lifted his hands off of the counter, walked to the bathroom, and popped a few melatonin. After that, he went back to his bed, in the hopes he would sleep better this time around.

~•~

He did not sleep better this time around.

In fact, this time he slept much  _worse_.

In his dream he had walked out of his bedroom to see his friends and family dead (hearts carved out, organs spilling on the floor) when he had heard ragged breathing. He tripped over Maizey’s limp hand as he ran towards the sound of breathing, falling to his knees beside the dying man.

“ _Ricky_ ,”  he said, voice choked up as tears streamed down his face.

“ _Tins_ . . .”  He managed to choke out, blood gurgling out of his mouth and sliding down his cheek. He gave out one last wet cough, blood splattering on C.C.’s cheek. 

Tinsley screamed, and he was back in his bed. 

He called out for Ricky, not trusting his legs to carry him to Ricky’s room (if Ricky was even  _there_ ) , but needing to know that his best friend was alright. He called again, more urgently, and then heard the sound of Ricky running towards him. 

Ricky asked him if he was alright, and C.C. assured him he was, as always. Although, for some reason, Ricky didn’t turn on the light. 

And as he hugged Ricky close to his chest, clutching at the sweaty back of his shirt, he felt Ricky’s hand on his arm, covered in a familiar half-dried smeary crustiness.

Ricky got back from his shower and in the blue light of the television screen, he offered him his hand to hold, seeing Tinsley was still quite shaken up. Tinsley looked at the offered hand and raised his own to grab it, but remembering the sensation from earlier and seeing the reddish stain on the same hand, he declined it.

Tinsley was starting to form some ideas in his head, and he  _ really  _ wasn’t liking the way the picture was turning out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched TUA s2 all in one day and I’m STILL reeling, anyway follow me on [tumblr](https://tumblr.com/%5BShy-the-lawyer%5D) or [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/shy_the_lawyer%5D) if you want to see me rant about that as well!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:
> 
> •mentions of sexual harassment
> 
> •The BRIEFEST mention of r*pe and child p*rn
> 
> •brief mention of police brutality 
> 
> •implied lesbian fetishization
> 
> •as always, a graphic murder

“I got reassigned to a new case,” Maizey said. Tinsley didn’t remember getting to the office. “Wow, Tins, you look awful. Are you ok?”

He looked up at her, slowly, blearily. He nodded just as slowly, and raised his coffee to his lips, chugging it all down. He was so tired his leg wasn’t even bouncing, like it usually did.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Maizey’s eyes were slightly widened. She looked both concerned for C.C.’s health and resigned that she couldn’t do anything about it. This wasn’t he first time she had seen him burned out on a case, and it wouldn’t be the last either, she was sure. “Am I going to have to drag your ass home? Because I  _will_ ,  Tinsley. Don’t test me.” 

He knew she would. She had done it before.

She dragged her chair from her desk and pulled it up to C.C.’s, which—conveniently—was right next to hers. She placed a hand on his arm, drawing his gaze towards her.

“Tinsley,” he didn’t respond. “ C.C.” he grunted in acknowledgement. “You  _ really  _ don’t look alright. Do you want me to call Ricky?” He flinched ever-so-slightly at the mention of his roommate’s name. Maizey, the keen observer as always, noticed this. 

“What’s your new case?” C.C. asked, deciding to change the subject while he still could. Maizey gave him a Look, before deciding to let him switch the conversation around.

“A thirty-three year old named Joseph Peters. Stab wound on the abdomen and arm. Beaten in face, choked to death, neck broken post-mortem, probably to make sure he was dead. No fingerprints, though. Overall it’s pretty fucked up.” 

Tinsley nodded. “No connection to Holly’s or my case though, right?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.” She paused. “But it doesn’t  _ feel  _ right. You know what I’m saying?” 

He did. Although he elected not to say that.

Maizey sighed. “Anyway, that’s what I’m dealing with right now. Let me know if you need any help with your case, ok?”

He nodded and lifted up his coffee to his lips, not remembering he had drank it all already. He looked at his cup with a puzzled expression before putting it down. He then looked up and saw Maizey was walking towards the break room.

“Maizey, wait!” His mouth moved without his brain thinking it through. She instantly stopped and spun around on her heel, walking quickly back to C.C.’s desk. She seemed to sense an urgency in his voice that he hadn’t even realized was there. 

“What—what time was the guy killed?”

“The coroner thinks sometime between two and three AM. Why?”

“I—“ Tinsley stopped short. He was being ridiculous, he knew this, but the exhaustion was making his mind paranoid. That’s why he was conjuring up stupid accusations. Yeah. 

“I, uh, I was just wondering. Thanks.”

“Of course, C.C.,” she put her hand on his arm. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and walked away, leaving C.C. to stew in his outlandish thoughts. 

~•~

Three hours later, Maizey was sitting at her desk next to Tinsley’s, when she suddenly straightened up, a look of mild horror on her face.

“Maiz? You ok?” C.C. asked. She didn’t respond. Instead, she got up and left. C.C. almost got up and followed her, but decided against it, recognizing the look on her face. He had seen it before, when she had cracked a case. After a moment, she came back with Holly in tow. She looked equally horrified, and was carrying her case file. 

“I need to see your case file on Jac Thomas.” She held out a hand that was shaking, but her voice was steady.

“Yeah, sure. Maizey, are you alright?” He shoved a few stray papers into the file and handed it over. She immediately snatched it up and popped it back open. She found what she was looking for and her face paled, eyes widened.

“I found the connection.” Her voice was soft yet strong.

“Maizey?” It made him wary how freaked out she looked. After Ricky, Maizey was his best friend and he didn’t want her to be upset.

“I was going over my case file and I saw something that I remembered popping up on the case when I was working it with Maizey, and it’s here too. We have the connection, C.C.”

“That’s—that’s great! Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah, of course it is,”

“What’s the connection?”

She took a breath. “They, uh. They all have marks on their record of workplace sexual misconduct. Thomas was a convicted rapist, Benson went to court for possession of child pornography, although the charges were dropped. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, I’m so  _stupid_! ” She whacked her hand against her forehead.

“Hey,  _hey_ ,  don’t do that, Maizey,” he grabbed her arm and held her hand in his so she wouldn’t hit herself again. “Maizey, look at me.” She looked up. “It’s alright, Maizey. You figured it out and that’s all that matters. Now we can continue to crack it, yeah?” He smiles at her. She nodded back.

“Are you alright? You both seem very upset.”

“It’s an upsetting topic,” Holly replied.

“Of course, of course, I’m very sorry.Let me know if I can, uh, do anything.” They both nodded, Maizey giving him a small smile. C.C. wasn’t always the best at the emotional side of things, but he kept trying, and Maizey always appreciated it.

She pulled up her chair and an extra one for Holly, and they all sat around C.C.’s desk, getting to work on the case.

~•~

Ricky was cleaning the glass display cases in the shop. He was very proud of what his father had managed to create, and he refused to keep it in anything less than perfect condition. As he was wiping down the counter, the bell over the door jangled, indicating a customer had entered. He looked up to greet them, but the words died in his throat as his face broke out into a broad smile.

“Mother! Hello, I wasn’t expecting you to stop by! I’ll be done with this in just a moment, if you’d like to sit down?” He gestured towards one of the plush chairs. He was so excited to see her that he didn’t notice her expression. She quietly sat down, waiting for him to finish. 

When he was done wiping off the counter, he went over to her, hugging her tightly. He then sat down beside her. As he looked over at her, he noticed for the first time how upset she looked, along with the newspaper in her hand. His face dropped.

“Mother?” He questioned. He seemed as if he was about to cry.

“Ricardo,” she said softly. She took a deep breath, tears in her eyes that she wasn’t yet ready to let spill over. Seeing his mother holding back tears and knowing he was the reason why broke something in him. He felt intensely guilty. “Ricardo, are you doing it again?”

“Wh—“ his lip wobbled. “Mother,” he took a deep, shuddering breath. He nodded slowly, a tear slipping down his face. At that, a small sob broke out of Lucy’s lips. She put a hand over her mouth briefly as she steeled herself.

“I wish you would stop, Ricardo.” The tears slipped out.

“Mother, you  _ know  _ I can’t do that.”

She took a deep breath. “I understand,” she said. She wished that Ricky wouldn’t do what he did, but in the end, she was irrevocably on his side. She put her hands on the side of Ricky’s face and kissed his forehead as they cried together.

~•~

C.C., Maizey, and Holly weren’t exactly  _ close  _ to solving the case, but they were much closer than they were this morning.

“I think I have a bad idea,” Maizey said. 

“What,” Holly sounded distracted, immersed in her work.

“Well, Gebra doesn’t want me staying at the office too late. So,”

Tinsley looked up, surprised. “Maizey? Are  you  of all people suggesting that we pull an all-nighter for a case?”

“No! I’m just saying, she wants me home before 8pm, and it’s already 7:30. We’re all on a roll, why not just . . . Relocate?”

“Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep Maiz?” He replied, joking. “You’re normally the one telling  us  to get to sleep.”

“It’s a good idea, though.” Holly said, starting to pack up her case file. “It’s already 7:30, are you all ready to go?” Everyone else continued to shuffle their papers and notes into their respective case files.

“Yeah, just give me a second, I’ve got to call my roommate.” Tinsley walked into the break room, dialing as he went. He lifted his phone to his ear, which was almost immediately answered. 

“Hey, Tins, what’s up?”

“I’m just calling to let you know that Holly and I are heading over to Maizey’s, and I probably won’t be home until much later.”

“Ok! Have fun on your play date,” Ricky said jokingly.

“Yeah, yeah, you too dumbass,” he said, not unkindly. He hung up and walked back to his desk to pack his things. After everyone had grabbed their coats, files, and bags, they all loaded into a cab to head over to Maizey’s place.

~•~

Lionel Martin was stronger than he looked. 

Ricky Goldsworth was learning that the hard way.

It was the middle of the night, and Ricky was fist fighting Lionel in the middle of the sidewalk.

Lionel Martin was a shitbag that C.C. had actually recommended to him.

Unintentionally, of course.

Martin was a dirty cop.  _ Well, more dirty than the usual cop,  _ Ricky thought. He  _ really  _ didn’t like cops. But Martin was a special case. The man had three (recorded) accounts of excessive police brutality. On top of that, he seemed to make Maizey  _ extremely  _ uncomfortable. Not that he blamed her, the man seemed a little  too  enthusiastic in his support of the lesbian community. 

Which is why Ricky was currently attempting to murder him.

He threw a punch that Martin dodged. Martin threw one back, and he felt his nose crack.

“ _You broke my nose, you motherfucker_!!”  Ricky said, before punching him in the temple. Martin momentarily lost his balance, which Ricky used to his advantage. He pushed Martin through the glass window of a storefront on the street. He fell through, crashing to the ground. Ricky jumped in after him and stomped his face into the ground, causing Martin to momentarily black out. 

Instead of grabbing his knife, which was still on the sidewalk, Ricky looked around for a weapon in the store. He grabbed the thing that was closest to him, which happened to be an axe. He raised the axe up and threw it down on Martin, over and over again. He covered his torso in deep gashes, mostly severed his left arm, and partly removed his head from his body. When he was certain the man was dead, he lifted the axe over his shoulder, pleased with himself. He then dragged a finger across the bloodied axe and plopped his finger in his mouth, licking off the blood. He smiled, and cheerily walked home, looking to all the world like a murderous lumberjack.

~•~

It was the middle of the night and C.C., Maizey, and Holly were sitting on the floor in a circle, papers strewn about, when Gebra finally kicked them out.

“You all need to go home and  _sleep_.  That’s  _non-negotiable_. ” Her hands were on her hips, voice stern. “I’ll call you both a cab.”

Tinsley barely remembered the drive home, head lulled against the window. 

He arrived at his complex, shaken awake by his driver, who he handed a few crumpled bills to. He trudged up the stairs until he reached his door, displaying the shining numbers “1 0 4 6.”

He opened the door blearily, and all the sudden snapped into alertness. Standing in the middle of the room was Ricky Goldsworth, his best friend, holding a bloody axe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re in the home stretch now broskis!!
> 
> As always, comments n kudos are greatly appreciated:)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter:
> 
> •a panic attack

Ricky’s eyes were very wide. 

He stood there, shocked, covered in blood. He was holding the end of a gore-splattered axe, the blade leaning on the ground.

All of the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Both C.C. and Ricky seemed to have issues breathing. He felt like a hand had reached into his chest, squeezing his heart, taking up so much room that his lungs no longer fit.

He wasn’t sure what to do. The adrenaline flooded his veins, telling him to run, telling him to fight, telling him that it was too late for him and he was going to die. 

_ He was going to die. _

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know  anything.  All he knew was that his shoes were too small and his pants were too itchy and his shirt was too wrinkled and his coat was too warm and his hair wasn’t laying right and his hat felt like it was squeezing his brain and the spots in his vision weren’t supposed to be there and the air wasn’t moving fast enough into his lungs and his tie was  _ too tight  and  there’s a blood-splattered murder weapon in his apartment and Ricky was holding it oh god oh god oh god— _

“M-my tie,” C.C. muttered.

“What?”

“My  _tie_! ”

His knees gave out and he fell to the floor.

~•~

Tinsley was only vaguely aware of his throat being raw and his face being wet.

He reached up to loosen his tie, remembering the feeling of suffocation, before noticing it had already been done.

He looked up and saw Ricky kneeling in front of him, hands— _clean_ , Tinsley noted— gently folded on his lap.

“I’m really sorry, Tins,” Ricky said. “I never wanted to upset you like that.” He handed C.C. something—a wooden spoon from the kitchen—to fiddle with and help to ground him. He hated that Ricky knew him well enough to do this. 

C.C. looked up, slowly, tentatively staring up at him. Ricky looked genuinely  _ devastated  _ at being the reason his friend was so upset. Tinsley‘s still-reeling mind didn’t quite know what to make of that.

“Are you going to kill me?” His voice was very small and raspy. Ricky almost burst into tears at that.

“C.C., you’re my  _best friend_.  I would  _ never  _ hurt you. I promise.” He gently hovered a hand over C.C’s shoulder, intending to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, before deciding against it when C.C. flinched away from him. His heart broke at that, yet he understood why and didn’t hold it against Tins one bit. 

“TinTin? Are you alright?”

“Am I—“ he spluttered. “Am I  _alright? Am I alright?!_ I’ve been stressed out over a  _ serial killer  _ case  _all week_ ,  and on top of that I find out that my  _ best friend  _ is a  _murderer!! Do I look alright to you?!_ ”  His anxiety had been replaced with rage. He stood up and towered over Ricky, glaring at him. He stood there for a moment, before realization dawned on his features.

“Ricky,” he said softly. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Are  _ you  _ the serial killer?”

Ricky stood up. “I can explain—“

“ _Ricky! Answer me! Are. You. The serial killer?!_ ”  Ricky slowly nodded. 

“Will you let me explain?” He asked, equally as soft. 

Tinsley let out a soul-deep sigh. “I should arrest you,”

“But you won’t.” Ricky smiled softly. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” Tinsley rubbed a hand over his face. 

Ricky walked over to their couch and sat down. “Come on,” he said, patting the seat next to him. After a moment of reluctance, C.C. sat down next to him.

And Ricky started to talk.

~•~

“Ricky,” C.C. said. “You’ve  _ got  _ to know that just because someone is a bad person, does  _ not  _ mean you can go out and  _ kill people! _ ”

“Tins, this is different!! If nothing is done about these people— _and nothing ever is_ — then they’re just going to keep being awful! Someone has to stop that. You  _ know  _ someone has to stop it.”

“A few  _ murders  _ isn’t going to remove all the sleazebags from the world, Ricky.”

“C.C., I can’t just stand by and do  _nothing_. ”

“I—“ C.C. stopped. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He decided to take a gentler approach with his best friend.  His  _murderous best friend_ ,  his brain kept reminding him. He tried to push the thought down. “Ricky,” he said softly. “You know that killing people is  _wrong_ ,  yeah? Do you know that?”

“Of course I know that.” He said, irritated. “Do  _ you  _ know that there are exceptions to every rule?”

“Ricky—not  _ every  _ rule—“

“Well  _this_ one—“

“ _Ricky! No!_ ”  Tinsley shouted. He took a deep breath. “No.” He shook his head vigorously. 

“Tinman, look at me.” He put a hand on C.C.’s shoulder. He looked up. “Be honest, you would murder these men if you were given the chance.” C.C. averted his eyes and focused on his hands, folded in his lap. His cheeks heated up with shame. He swallowed.

“I  _didn’t_.”

“But you  _would_.  Don’t even lie to yourself Casey,” C.C. sighed at the use of his first name. Ricky didn’t call him that unless he was  really  trying to get C.C. to listen. 

“It’s ok, C.C.” He rubbed Tinsley’s shoulder. His voice was soft, a whisper of caring and calm. His eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m not asking you to get involved in anything. I’m not asking you to understand. I’m just asking you not to rat me out. Please, Tins?” His voice was pleading, verging on desperate. 

“I,” 

“You don’t have to decide right away. It’s alright.” He wrapped C.C. up in his arms. Tinsley anxiously hugged him back, grabbing fistfuls of Ricky’s shirt as he buried his face into the other man’s shoulder.

“This is just a lot to take in, Ricky.”

“I know, I know,” he rubbed C.C.’s back comfortingly. “It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m—“ he took a steadying breath. “I’m so sorry, Tins. I never wanted to put you in a situation like this.” 

Tinsley didn’t reply, because he didn’t know how. 

~•~

They ate their late dinner in silence that night. C.C. didn’t help Ricky dispose of the axe, but he didn’t  _ stop  _ him, either. 

In the middle of the suffocating quiet, Tinsley spoke. 

“I’m gonna ask The Captain to remove me from the case.”

Ricky purposefully kept his face as neutral as he could. “Whatever you think is best, Tinman.” 

He gripped his utensils, hard. “I’m not going to help you derail the case, Ricky.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“And—this isn’t—I’m not taking your  _side_.  I’m just, I’m stepping back from the case. I’m too emotionally involved.”

Ricky nodded somberly. He knew what that meant. He finished his meal quickly and left, putting his dishes in the sink on his way out.

He fled to the bathroom and locked the door behind himself for good measure, leaning against the wall. Just breathing. 

He briefly looked at himself in the mirror— _the face of a monster_ ,  he tried not to think—before taking off his clothing, twisting the shower’s handle. 

And as he stepped into the scalding hot shower, attempting to clean the blood from his skin, he let out a quiet sob.

~•~

It was three AM and Ricky hadn’t stopped crying.

He was laying in bed, quietly sniffling. His nose was drippy, his throat was raw, and teardrops were pooling in his ears. 

Ever since he had started four hours ago, he just couldn’t  _stop_. 

But C.C. potentially ratting him out wasn’t the reason he was crying. Ricky wouldn’t go to jail, he knew that.

He  _couldn’t_.

So, you see, it wasn’t C.C.’s reaction that was making him cry. 

It was what the reaction might force him to  _ do. _

~•~

Unbeknownst to Ricky, C.C. was also crying in the next room over. 

He was laying on his side, curled up into the fetal position. He was still in his day clothes, too tired and sad and full of pure  _ dread  _ to do anything. His tie was hanging on the knob of his headboard, loosened but still knotted. His tears dripped down his nose and made a wet stain on his pillow. 

He knew that he should turn Ricky in.

He knew he didn’t want to.

It was eating him up inside, tearing him apart.

_ Should I be a bad detective? Or a bad friend? Which decision would make me a bad person?  _ Am  _ I a bad person for even needing to think about it? _

C.C. had once promised Ricky that he would do anything for him, even help cover up a murder. 

He had meant it as a joke.

It was a lot harder than C.C. ever imagined it could be to have to decide wether or not it was  _ only  _ a joke. 

He didn’t know what to do.

~•~

Tinsley woke up to a plate of waffles and a very shaky Ricky.

Ricky was hoping to smooth things over with C.C. before he had to make a . . .  _decision_. 

With shaking hands and a pit in his stomach, he finished setting the table, while Tinsley stood in the doorway in yesterday’s clothes. Neither of them knew what to say.

“Hungry?” Ricky finally managed to croak out.

Tinsley stared at the waffles. “They’re not poisoned, are they?”

“Wh—I would n-“ he stopped. He couldn’t say that, not anymore. He couldn’t truthfully tell his best friend that he hadn’t, for the briefest of moments, considered adding rat poison to the batter, and he refused to lie to his best friend. He opted for a less affronted and more gentle tone. “No, C.C., it’s not poisoned.” He grabbed a fork and stuck a waffle, taking a bite to prove his point that they weren’t poisoned. 

Tinsley tentatively sat down. He grabbed a few waffles and made them up with butter and syrup. He cut them into pieces and stuck one with his fork, but before he put the soggy waffle into his mouth, he looked up directly at Ricky.

“I’m trusting you,” he said, putting the slice of waffle in his mouth. Ricky just nodded and smiled.

He knew what it meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand that’s a wrap!!! Thank you sososo much to everyone (yes, you!) that followed along with this story! It meant the world to me to see everyone’s comments as the chapters progressed.
> 
> Also, sorry it took a bit to put this one up! I wasn’t quite ready for it to end lol
> 
> Anyways love y’all! Feel free to follow me on my socials :) <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated<3
> 
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